It Ain't Gonna Be Easy
by calliopeiamuse08
Summary: Ever since the apocalypse, things have been strained between Sam and Dean. Now they've reached the breaking point, and things are going to get a little out of hand. Ch 2: The patented Winchester method of problem-solving: beat the snot out of it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, we'd have lots of episodes about the Winchester family having fun together and enjoying life. Luckily other, more sadistic hands retain creative control of the franchise.

* * *

_Here's a simplification of everything I'm goin' through:__  
You plus me is bad news. _

- "Love on the Rocks", by Sarah Bareilles

* * *

He never thought he'd say it, but Dean missed being able to bicker with his brother. Back before their lives had gotten ten times as complicated (before he'd been sent to hell, before he'd believed in angels, before Sam had gotten a taste for demon blood, before all that crap), they'd bickered all the time. They would tie into each other over stupid shit like who drove the Impala or who used the computer, and they'd go at it for a good fifteen minutes, at least. Then something would interrupt them, and all would be forgotten in the presence of more pressing matters.

Now, when they pissed each other off, they held their tongues. They were afraid of what might happen if they started to fight; they had too much ammunition against each other. It was too easy to escalate from a petty disagreement to blurting out accusations that couldn't be taken back, too easy to wound the other to the core without throwing a punch, too easy to break the uncertain and uneasy trust they'd slowly rebuilt. Too much of everything.

Dean knew they were both guilty of huge transgressions. He had started it when he made a deal for Sam's life, something he'd hated Dad for doing to him. Then Sam had started buying into Ruby's lies, while meanwhile Dean was in hell, jumpstarting the apocalypse. And the list went on. When it came down to it, Dean had decided that he was the most responsible for the end of the world, because he'd always been responsible for Sam as well as himself. But for the rift between them, the sense of betrayal and hurt – when he added up the numbers, Sam always came off looking like the guiltier party. Dean didn't just think it, he _felt_ it, deep in his heart. The lies, the deception, the addiction…. Say what you would about Dean, he'd always been as honest with Sam as he was with himself. Whether or not that was very honest was a different matter altogether.

And now, all the little things they didn't fight over were piling up, like an invisible wall between them made of _things we don't talk about_, and pretty soon they were barely talking at all. But all that was about to change.

It started when Dean turned on the television. Sam was across the room, researching on his laptop; his gaze flickered up to the TV momentarily. "Could you turn that down?" he asked Dean.

Dean turned it down a couple clicks.

A second later, Sam spoke again. "That's still too loud."

Dean wasn't sure why, but Sammy's tone was _really_ pissing him off. "I'm trying to watch a show," he barked.

Sam closed his laptop. "I'm trying to _research_," he snapped. "Or have you forgotten what we came here for?"

All Dean's pent-up irritation and annoyance came bubbling up to the surface. "Oh, so now _I'm_ the one with the screwed-up priorities?" he retorted angrily, standing up.

Sam stood up in response, irritating Dean further with his stupid tallness. "I don't know what your problem is today, but get off my case," Sam said in a low tone.

"No, see, the last time I did that, you started sucking down _demon blood_ and unleashing hell on earth," Dean bit back, surprising even himself with the venom in his voice.

Sam clenched his teeth. "Well, I seem to remember that you had some hand in the matter. In fact, you were the one who made it all possible. And I'm not talking about the torture, Dean, because _that_ I can understand. I'm talking about the fact that you were in hell in the first place."

Okay, that was it. Dean was losing the last vestiges of his temper; he could feel his blood running hotter, faster.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this apocalypse was brought to you by Dean Winchester: the brand you trust," Sam went on sarcastically. "If you like undermining everything you've ever stood for, always use a Winchester."

"You were _dead_, Sammy," Dean spat, livid. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"

They stood frozen for a split second, locked in a heated glare, the tension in the room palpable.

Dean wasn't sure who threw the first punch, but the next thing he knew they were grappling on the motel floor, each trying their hardest to beat the living daylights out of the other.


	2. Chapter 2

_Baby believe me,  
__If I stay, it ain't gonna be easy._

- "Love on the Rocks", by Sarah Bareilles

* * *

"You – bastard," Sam grunted, enunciating each word with a well-aimed blow.

"Son – of – a bitch!" Dean wheezed, trying to keep his headlock on Sam. He gave Sam's head a rough jerk, attempting to get him to stop punching him in the solar plexus.

It didn't work – Sam kept hitting, but Dean was nothing if not stubborn. He kept his arm squeezed around Sam's neck and just held on. They exchanged some kicks, but neither was in a very good position to do much damage that way.

Eventually, Sam started to weary. "Uncle," he panted. "I give up."

Dean was suspicious but too bruised to care. He released Sam and shoved him away roughly, then tried to assess his injuries. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, but that was mostly from Sam's nose; he could feel that his lip was split, his eye was swelling and his stomach hurt like a mother.

Sam wasn't in any better shape. His face was a bloody mess, and his shirt was torn. He was wincing and cradling his hand. He was taking quick breaths in and out, and that's when Dean realized that Sam was blinking way too much.

"Dude, you_ crying_?" he asked incredulously. Ouch, that split lip made it hurt to talk. "Since when are you such a big baby? You've had the shit kicked out of you more times than I can count."

"Not by you," Sam mumbled, drawing his knees up towards his chest, resting his lanky arms on them and lowering his head.

Shit. Dean felt that guilty squeeze in his heart that he knew so well, the one he felt whenever he'd failed to protect Sam. He hadn't protected Sam from himself.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of anger rise up in response. Who was he kidding? Sam had beaten the tar out of him too! He wasn't a little kid anymore, hell, Sam was _bigger_ than Dean, and he'd had this coming a long time. Without thinking, Dean asked him the question that had festered in the back of his mind for months now. "You're supposed to be the smart one. How could you be stupid enough to believe Ruby?"

Sam was taken aback by the question. He gaped for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes. "What am I supposed to say, Dean?" he asked bitterly. "I've said I'm sorry a million times, and you keep saying that sorry doesn't cut it."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because I don't believe you," Dean answered hotly. "For some reason, I never quite buy your apology. I can tell, Sammy – you think the Ruby thing wasn't all your fault."

"Because it's not!" Sam blurted.

"Really? Then whose fault is it?" Dean demanded sarcastically. "Is it Ruby's fault because she tricked you? Cuz I warned you about her, Sammy boy, and you didn't listen. You were too busy getting your rocks off –"

"It's your fault!" Sam interrupted, fists clenched. "It's not just my fault, it's also yours, and I'm tired of taking all the shit for it."

Dean was stunned. Speechless. Finally he managed to collect his thoughts. "Are you _high_?" he inquired, astounded. "How is _you _drinking demon blood _my_ fault?"

Sam pushed the hair out of eyes, fixing Dean with an unnervingly steely gaze. "What's dead should stay dead, isn't that what you said, Dean? When Dad made a deal to save your life?"

A lump rose in Dean's throat. "Sam –"

"No, let me talk," Sam said, cutting him off in a strained voice. "I never asked you to make that deal, and when we couldn't break it… I fell apart. I needed you. I _needed_ my big brother." The pain was written all over his face, audible in his voice.

Dean felt something prickling at the corners of his eyes, and took deep breaths, trying to keep it together.

"When I needed you the most, you were gone. And even when you were back, you were still gone." He wiped some of the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand; it mostly just smeared it. "I mean, I guess I should have expected it. You've never been big on talking things out. But holy hell, Dean, I can't believe you didn't notice that I was messed up. Ever since Dad died, I told you that you needed to kill me when you saw me start to change into something I wasn't. The day I stopped telling you that, alarm bells should have gone off in your head. But instead, you were too wrapped up in your own little world to notice what was going on with me."

"My own little world?" Dean echoed sarcastically. "I was resurrected by angels so that I could stop the _apocalypse_. I'm sorry that I had a little too much on my plate to play Dr. Phil with you, Sammy. I thought you could handle yourself."

"Bullshit!" Sam cried. "You _pretended_ I could handle myself because it was easier than facing the fact that _you fucked up_, leaving me on my own like that. You turned a blind eye when I needed someone to see what I was doing. I needed someone to stop me. To tell me that it was wrong. I _wanted_ you to catch me."

Dean was struggling to breathe evenly, each word from Sam resonating painfully in his heart. Sammy was right – he was so right. "Yeah, well you know what Sam?" he yelled. "I goddamn _needed_ you too!" His eyes burned, and his voice was hoarse. "I get dragged out of hell after becoming something out of my worst nightmares, terrified that I've come back wrong, and for the first time in your life you decide to stop being caring-and-over-sharing, asks-tons-of-stupid-ass-probing-questions-until-you-tell-all Sammy Winchester! I'm not good at this communicating crap, Sam. That's_ your_ job. So yeah, I needed you, and you weren't there for me." Crap – the tears were escaping now, trickling out the corners of his eyes. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? It's not about Ruby, or the crossroads demon, or the frigging television volume. You weren't there for me." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "And I wasn't there for you. And…" his voice broke. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Dean," Sam whispered, and for once Dean really believed him.

They sat together silently for a moment, each knowing that the other was thinking the same thing – _What happened to us?_

Then Sam chuckled softly. "Wait, was that a moment of emotional insight I just heard you have?"

"I'm full of surprises," Dean retorted.

"Can we – are we good again?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"I don't know about _good_," Dean sighed. "We're still pretty messed up. But we're brothers again." He scooted over to where Sam sat.

"If we're gonna make this family work," Sam said, "it's not going to be easy. We're both going to have to try. I mean, _really_ try, Dean."

"Okay," he agreed.

Sam seemed surprised at his quick acquiescence. He hesitated, and finally spoke again. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too, bro," Dean replied, and he meant it. But that was a little too Hallmark-moment for him, so he elbowed him. "Bitch."

Sam winced; apparently Dean had hit a bruise. "Jerk."

They smiled at each other. Yeah, they were good.


End file.
